Rose
by chalantness
Summary: "What are you doing here?" Tyler Lockwood stares straight into her eyes. She wants to flinch away. His stare is so cold, lifeless. Alone. "I know." Spoilers of "Rose" 2x08


**Fandom.** TylerCaroline

Disclaimer: Vampire Diaries © L.J. Smith

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**Rose**

By sakuracherish814

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As soon as she steps through the door, she knows something is up.

She slows her pace, nothing but the faint sound of her heels and the clattering of her keys drifting through the air. "Mom?" Her voice echoes in the empty space. No. But it wasn't _empty_. She can just feel that something (or more likely some_one_) else was there. She sets her keys down and takes a few more paces. _That smell_. Of course—she should've expected this after what happened earlier.

She turns around and is face to face with the last person anyone would expect, yet the first person she expects. "What are you doing here?"

Tyler Lockwood stares straight into her eyes. She wants to flinch away. His stare is so cold, lifeless. Alone.

"I know."

She avoids the statement.

"Breaking and entering the _sheriff's_ house—that move will win you an award."

He knows she's avoiding, too. But he knows better.

"Go ahead," he tells her. He was obviously humoring, slowly circling her like one of those investigators from a really bad cop show. Only this time, it wasn't the least bit hilarious. "Keep dodging. Keep changing the subject." He's behind her now, and the warmth of his breath against the back of her neck makes her want to shiver. "But I know. You're just like me, aren't you?"

She shakes her head faintly. "No."

From the corner of her eye, she sees him nod beside her. "Keep it up. But I'm not buying it." He stands in front of her. "I saw how strong you were."

She stares straight into his eyes. She tries to see some hint of doubt, some moment of hesitation.

There is none.

"I'm not leaving here," he tells her slowly, "until you tell me the truth."

"Tyler—" She whispers.

"You're a werewolf." _Wait._ "Say it."

_What?_

She is frozen for a whole second, until she can't help it.

She giggles.

She knew it was a bad move to begin with, but the idea was just so—_ridiculous._ "_What?"_ she finally gets out.

And in seconds, her back hits the wall. Of course it doesn't hurt her, but somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders if it will leave a dent.

"Stop lying!" he demands.

"I'm not lying!" Her urge to laugh is all but forgotten.

He hits the wall, right beside her head. Just slams his fist against angrily against it. The painting hanging beside them slips from its hooks and slides onto the hardwood floor, shattering into a million pieces. She has to stop him before he destroys the rest of her house. Who knows what her mother will do to her?

She growls lowly and grabs him by his shoulders, switching their positions. She bears her fangs, hissing, and his eyes widen. She shoves him aside, pushing him to the ground.

As she sees him scramble across the floor and away from her, she inwardly sighs. _At least his temper is gone_.

"I'm not a werewolf, okay?"

He doesn't seem the least bit assured.

_You wanted the truth_, she thinks to herself as she slowly moves towards him.

Surprisingly, though, he doesn't back away. He may have been cowering lightly, may have had that look of shock across his face.

But he never once moved away as she made her way towards him, and suddenly she was crouching in front of him so that they were at eye level. Habitually, she sweeps her hair from her face and offers another smile. "But you are right about one thing, Tyler. I'm not human." She reconsiders this. "Not anymore."

"Then what are you?"

He asks the question, but she can already tell in his eyes that he has figured it out. But she knows him—he needs her to say it.

She stares straight into his eyes and never breaks their gaze. "Vampire."

He shudders lightly.

She offers a third smile and grasps her scarf, slowly dragging it until it fell from around her neck and into her lap. He watches her as she does this and, despite the situation, she suddenly feels self-conscious. So she bites her lower lip and averts her eyes.

"That—doesn't hurt you?"

The fact he had spoken was something she wasn't expecting, so she forgets to respond.

"Hmm? Oh," she removes her teeth from her lips and licks them lightly. "No. I—my skin is a lot more durable. And I have a higher tolerance for pain."

"Like me?"

She exhales the softest of laughs. "Like you."

"I just—" He runs his fingers through his hair in distress, but she's a little bit more relieved. He's stopped shaking.

"Why don't we move into the dining room?" she offers.

His eyes cut to hers, and he looks like he wants to say something, but slowly he nods. "Yeah. Sure."

She takes his hands in hers and flinches at the contact. His temperature seems to be burning or maybe it was because she was colder? _Never mind. Save it for later_. So she nods at him and lifts the both of them back onto their feet. She gives his hand a light squeeze and gestures him towards the dining room despite the fact that he probably knew her house like the back of his hand.

Instead of following him, however, she quickly moves into the kitchen and grabs one of the bottles from the fridge and two glasses from overhead.

When she enters the dining room she finds him sitting on the arm of one of the chairs by the fireplace. She's not entirely sure, but she thinks she sees him raise one eyebrow slightly at the items in her hands when she enters, but he says nothing.

"I know it's crazy, but alcohol helps," she explains as she begins to pour. "Or, at least it helps me. You know, with all that inside, jittery stuff?"

He nods, seeming to understand, and takes the glass she offers. "I'm hot."

_Um_.

She bites the inside of her cheek so he can't see and stares at him. She really hopes she wasn't blushing right about now.

He doesn't seem to notice her reaction, though. "It's like my skin is on fire."

She begins to pour herself some, too, just so she could avoid staring into his eyes, only glancing occasionally. "Really?" She places the bottle on the mantle as he begins to drink. "I've never had any of that." She exhales a nervous laugh. "Guess wolves are different."

He nods once, gulping, and looks up at her.

Of course she hadn't really expected him to say much—not after their little moment in the hallway—but vampire or not, she was still Caroline. And she still hated silences.

"At the beginning, I was very, very emotional. Everything was heightened."

He nods again, seeming to understand perfectly. "I have that." She smiles and brings her glass to her lips, drinking softly. She hears him exhale. "How can you be a vampire?"

She gulps. "How can you be a werewolf?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he stands up and walks slowly, obviously needing movement to calm his nerves. "Who else is like you?"

And she's pretty glad that they were no longer face to face because she's pretty sure her expression would've been obvious. _Damon is so going to kill me_. So she turns to face him and offers a smile, shrugging softly. "Just me," she lies, and she hopes that he believes her.

He's not entirely sure.

He sets down his glass on the table and crosses his arms over his chest, watching her warily.

"It's a really long story, we can share another time—" _Damn it, Caroline, shut up!_ "—Um, how many other werewolves are there?"

"Just me."

She stares at him. For once, his emotions were as open as a book to her.

"And my Uncle Mason," he continues, and it's obvious that this is a touchy subject for him, "but, he left town."

She looks down at her hands, squeezing the glass lightly, before setting it onto the coffee table beside his. "Look, Tyler," she begins, walking towards him, "you can't tell anyone. Not about you, not about me—no one will understand."

He nods. She can tell that he knows the feeling all too well. "I know."

"I want to tell you about my mom, and yours, and the founding families, and the council—" _Stop rambling._ "—but I need you to promise me no one will find out about us. This is life and death, Tyler."

She instantly regrets ever speaking.

Seeing that look on his face—the look of someone who is lost, who is afraid, who doesn't even know who he is anymore—has a rush of emotions overcoming her.

"I have no one else to tell," he reminds, voice shaking.

She watches him.

"I'm sorry. About earlier, it's just—I'm alone with this." His voice drops. "It's gonna happen to me. On the next full moon, I'm gonna turn. And I won't be able to stop it."

And he says the one thing she never thought she'd hear from Tyler Lockwood.

"I'm scared."

At her lack of response to his confession, he manages to exhale nervously, shaking his head. "Tyler," she nearly whispers. She sees that he's trying to avoid her gaze, but she can't help it. "No, it's—" She wraps her arms around him, squeezing him slightly, and she's not entirely surprised when he hugs her back, locking his arms around her and burying his head into her hair and shoulder.

She feels warm. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

But she feels warm in his arms. Comfortable. She loves the feeling of their bodies intertwined, of his head on her shoulder. And, for once, she's not thinking about Matt.

Neither of them pulls away for quite some time. In the back of her head, she wonders if her mother is just going to walk in on them at any second. Or perhaps she'll see the broken painting and question what the hall happened in here, which neither of them will know how to answer.

She shifts and he slowly pulls his head back. However, they don't release each other, and their faces are only inches apart.

And she doesn't want to move.

Slowly, his lips come closer and closer until their soft against hers, licking them lightly, kissing them gently. She doesn't want to take advantage of his vulnerability, of his loneliness, but she can't fight the urge that comes over her.

So she sighs into the kiss and kisses him again, wanting more.

Maybe it was because they had just poured themselves out to each other, but none of this feels wrong.

Suddenly, she's being pushed against the wall, not nearly with as much force as before, but she feels her back press against it as he presses against her. His fingers comb their way through her hair, and her hands place themselves on either sides of his face, effectively deepening the kiss.

She doesn't even realize how lost they both were until they pull apart, gasping for breath, their bodies flush against each other.

His hands trail from her hair, ghosting over her sides and settling at the waistband of her jeans just underneath her shirt, grazing lightly against her skin. "Care, I—"

He's about to apologize.

He's about to tell her that he didn't know what had come over him, that he was seeking comfort.

But that's not true, and not what she wants to hear.

So she shushes him softly, shaking her head and offering a very _Caroline_ smile. He smiles back—a very small, very faint one, but a smile nonetheless—and lightly kisses the crook of her neck and shoulder. She whispers a moan, shuddering lightly at the sensation of warm breath against her cool skin, but doesn't pull away.

And, as he brings his head up and brings their lips back together in another languished kiss, his hands slipping under her shirt, she can't help but feel this was how it's supposed to be.

_My Tyler_.

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**A/n.** Mostly rambling, but I _absolutely loved_ their scenes together so I decided to write an… "extended" version of this scene. I had to write _something!_

(I haven't edited this yet. I wanted to get this posted before I leave for school, so please excuse the errors and whatnot for now, until I can come back to the computer and actually re-read this.)

_So you read it. Love it? Hate it? Please review it!_


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